


Chi Canta è il Mio Cuore

by velvetjinx



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Anal Sex, Angst, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fluff, Implied Switching, Intrigue, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Religion, Religious Content, Renaissance Era, Shameless Smut, Small Steve, Top Bucky Barnes, italian names, quite a bit of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 20:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16709182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetjinx/pseuds/velvetjinx
Summary: In the heart of Renaissance Florence, an artist becomes embroiled in a world of intrigue and violence, and an assassin battles the forces of evil while searching for his family. But in the end, will the greatest risk either of them takes be with their hearts?





	Chi Canta è il Mio Cuore

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS go to vex, for the encouragement and the bouncing and giving of ideas; vellities, for reading it through and screaming at me every step of the way; Eli and Sami and JB and everyone in the slack for cheerleading. You all ROCK.
> 
> Title means ‘Whoever sings is my heart’, and it’s a lyric from La Prima Cosa Bella by Malika Ayane. 
> 
> Although this is an Assassin’s Creed fusion, you don’t have to know much about the games or the movie to read it. Hopefully it stands alone.

"You know what you must do."

A dark alleyway in the middle of Florence; an ideal place for a clandestine meeting. 

"Yes."

A slight noise from the street beyond… perhaps a guard? But no, merely the leaves rustling in the wind. 

"Then go, and good luck. Remember, brother: where other men blindly follow the truth…"

"Nothing is true."

"Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember…"

"Everything is permitted."

The swoop of a billowing cloak in the darkness, and a solitary hooded figure emerging silently from the alleyway onto the lamplit street. 

***

Stefano di Ruggiero closed his shutters against the cool night, rubbing his arms in an attempt to warm himself. Although he was no longer as sickly as he had been when he was a child, he still had to guard against winter sicknesses. Draping a blanket over his shoulders, he picked up his brush and dipped it in the azurite paint, making short strokes on the canvas. He knew that painting by candlelight was no good for his eyes, but he was already behind with the commission. And given that it had come from a member of the influential Medici family… Well. 

He worked for an hour, then stopped as his hand was starting to cramp around the brush. He sat back, nodding. It was starting to look more like a real painting. 

There was a slight noise outside on the street, and Stefano stood, blanket trailing behind him like a cape as he walked to the window. He opened the shutter just enough for him to look out, and as he gazed out onto the empty street a body fell in front of him, down onto the stones below. 

Stefano opened his mouth to yell, when he saw someone leap like a cat across from his roof to the roof of the building next door. When the figure landed, they looked back, and although Stefano could not see the person's face in the dark of the night, he knew they were looking at him. 

Closing the shutter quickly, Stefano went back to his brushes, lifting them with unsteady hands and swirling them in the alcohol to clean them. Perhaps he had imagined the whole thing—surely no one could jump between buildings with such ease as that. And who would want to murder someone on a rooftop? Who would be up there except perhaps a lowly guard?

Trying to ignore his uneasiness of mind, Stefano finished cleaning up for the night and betook himself to bed. This was a conundrum for the morning. 

***

The night was dark, with no moon, but still the assassin made his way over buildings, avoiding the guards where he could, killing them silently with his hidden blade where he could not. Had he been a lesser assassin, he would have found himself distracted by the image of the young man whose face was emblazoned on his mind. The sandy blond hair falling into his shadowed eyes; the perfect "o" of those full, pink lips. But this assassin was on a mission, and could ill afford distractions. 

The brief was simple: to eavesdrop on a Templar meeting in their heavily guarded meeting place. The assassin was not to engage the Templars unless completely necessary, and the assassin intended to make sure that it was not. 

He managed to make it past the outer guards through the bushes, then scaled the wall to one of the upstairs windows. Opening it easily, he slid inside. Sudden footsteps around the corner had him on the alert, and he stepped into an alcove as a guard walked past him. As soon as the guard was past, the assassin stepped out and silently dispatched him with his hidden blade. There was a large wooden chest next to the alcove, in which the assassin hid the body so as not to attract attention to his presence. 

Creeping slowly through the maze of corridors, and dispatching two more guards on the way, the assassin finally reached the inner sanctum. There was a guard outside the door, and the assassin smiled grimly. Taking a small pebble from his pocket, he threw it over to the other corner of the room. The guard, immediately on the alert, went to investigate, and the assassin walked silently up behind him, thrusting his hidden blade deep into the guard’s side. 

"Requiescat in pace," he murmured as the guard collapsed to the floor with a soft ‘flump’. 

His way clear, the assassin opened the door and slipped inside. Glancing over the balcony, he could see several Templars standing around in a circle, faces hooded, and chanting in Latin. 

After a few moments, they fell silent, and one of the Templars cleared his throat. 

"The assassins continue to attempt to thwart our plans at every avenue," the man began. "But we are determined. Our quest to find the pieces of Eden cannot be stopped. Every day we grow in numbers and in strength. With so many powerful members of our circle, we cannot fail!" There was thunderous applause, then the man held up his hand and the others were quiet again. "We have heard rumors that a clue to the hiding place of the apple is hidden in the crypt of Santa Reparata under the Duomo. To think that it was under our noses this whole time! But no matter. We shall send some guards down with a trusted ally to oversee the work, and God willing we will have the clue in our hands soon."

"When do you intend to do this?" another of the circle asked. 

"We must work quickly, but unfortunately due to public interest it will not be easy. The crypt is closed on Sundays, however, so I propose we send the guards on Sunday evening, after the final mass of the day."

There were murmurs of agreement around the room, and the man nodded. 

"Now go, and pray for our success."

 _So that is their plan,_ the assassin thought to himself as he made his way back out. _Well, they will be stopped._ He went back out the same way as he came in, but was nearly spotted by one of the guards outside as he crept through the bushes. He stilled, and the guard shrugged, saying something to the guard next to him. The assassin waited a few moments, then carried on, slipping silently through the shadows. 

When he arrived back at the brotherhood’s bureau, he went straight to the Mentor, and bowed his head as he entered. 

"Mentor, I have returned," the assassin said softly, and the Mentor smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. 

"So I see, and no visible wounds! You have done well. Tell me, what news?"

The assassin related all he had heard at the Templars’ meeting, and the Mentor frowned. 

"So we have until Sunday evening to formulate a plan. That is not long, for tomorrow is Saturday. Two days to foil such a plan may not be enough time."

"Might I make a suggestion?" the assassin asked, and the Mentor nodded. "Let me go with two others to the Duomo on Sunday evening after the last mass. We can get in undetected, and by the time they know we are there it will be too late. We can wait until they have found the clue and snatch it from their very hands, and destroy it, if that is your wish."

"A sound plan indeed." The Mentor nodded approvingly. "Yes, that is a good idea. Now go and get some rest. I have more for you to do tomorrow."

The assassin turned to go, then looked back over his shoulder. "Is there… is there any news on…?" he asked hesitantly, and the Mentor shook his head. 

"I am sorry, my son, but no."

The assassin sighed, then steeped himself and walked tall through the bureau to the sleeping area. He'd think about his next move tomorrow. 

***

Stefano woke the following morning to a loud knocking on the door of his small loft apartment, and he slid out of bed, yawning as he opened the door. Outside stood two solemn looking guards. 

"You live here?"

Stefano raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Did you hear a disturbance last night?" At Stefano’s confused look, the guard clarified, "A guard was murdered on the street outside last night."

As the events of the night before came back, Stefano almost opened his mouth to tell the guards what he had seen. But something made him cautious, and he shook his head instead. 

"No, I didn't. Depending on the time I was either painting or asleep."

The guards eyed him with a curiosity which hadn't been there before. "You are an artist?"

Stefano nodded. "I'm currently working on a commission for Clarissa de Medici."

The guards exchanged a glance, then bowed respectfully. "We are sorry to have bothered you," one of the guards said, and they bowed again before leaving. Stefano closed the door behind them and leaned back against it, taking a deep breath. He could not have speculated on why he had hesitated to tell the guards the truth; he only knew that the instinct to keep silent was powerful. 

He looked out the window. Sunrise—too early for him to be awake just yet. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head as he wandered back to his bed, and got in under the layers of blankets. Despite his uneasiness of mind, he fell into a deep slumber the moment his head hit the pillow. 

***

The assassin woke early, to the sound of several of the brotherhood already up and milling around. He washed and dressed, before making his way through the labyrinthine corridors to the Mentor’s rooms.

On his way there, another assassin—a young girl by the name of Cassandra—stopped him, her hand light on his arm. 

“I hear you did good work last night, brother,” she said softly, and the assassin inclined his head. “Hopefully the day will soon come when the Templars are defeated and we no longer have to worry about them achieving their goals.”

The assassin smiled grimly. “I do not think that will happen in our lifetime, Cassandra. The Templars’ web stretches far, and we assassins are so few. Still, all we can do is hope to always foil them one more time.”

Cassandra nodded, dropping her hand from his arm, and he strode forward towards the Mentor’s rooms. On arrival, he knocked, and waited for the familiar voice to call, ‘Come in!’ before entering.

“Ah! Just the man I wished to see,” the Mentor said when he saw the assassin. “Sit down, please.” The assassin did so, feeling a little uneasy of mind, although unsure why. The Mentor poured himself a cup of water from the clay jug on his desk, and took a sip, frowning. “There are rumors that the master artist, Francesco Esposito, is trying to recruit his students into the Templars, having recently been convinced of their twisted philosophies himself. He is a popular master, and many of his students have become—or are becoming—influential themselves. He is also a favorite of the Medicis, so something must be done before they fall under his spell and all of Florence will be under Templar control.”

“What do you wish me to do?”

“He will be meeting with one of his former students today, at the Piazza Della Signoria, at midday. We believe that he intends to put forward his arguments.”

“What is the student’s name?”

“Stefano di Ruggiero.”

“Should I eliminate them both?”

The Mentor shook his head. “There is no need to eliminate di Ruggiero. Besides, he is currently working for a Medici, and there would possibly be a public outcry were he to be killed. As far as we know, he is an innocent. Try and get to Esposito before he reaches di Ruggiero. If you cannot, listen in to their conversation and eliminate Esposito after. You may need to then bring di Ruggiero to a safe house to assess how much of a danger he will be.”

“It will be done.”

The assassin stood, and the Mentor smiled at him. 

“You are one of our most skilled assassins, my son. I have full faith in your abilities to complete this mission. Remember, we work in the shadows to serve the light.”

The assassin bowed, and left the room. Making his way back through to the weapons room, he sharpened each of his blades until they gleamed dangerously. He had some time before he had to intercept Esposito. Time enough to train with his fellow assassins.

The training room smelled like sweat and blood, old leather and a hint of metal. The assassin was greeted by several others as he entered, and was approached by a young apprentice. She handed him a towel, and smiled.

“Would you spar with me?” she asked shyly, and the assassin nodded.

“Bring your sword to the sparring ring, and I will instruct you on the finer points of fighting.”

The apprentice hurried off eagerly, returning with a sword as the assassin stepped into the sparring ring. She held it well, and he could find no fault with her stance. One of the other assassins, Alessandro, stood by and clapped his hands.

“Begin!” he called, and the assassin stood on his guard as the apprentice swung her sword towards him. He blocked the first few blows easily, then used her forward momentum to turn the attack back upon her, his sword pausing half an inch from her throat.

The apprentice swallowed slowly as the assassin drew back his sword.

“Always be aware of the ways that your fighting may be turned against you,” the assassin warned her. “Now, I will attack as a guard would attack, and you must try and defend yourself.”

The assassin went on the attack, and despite the warning the apprentice was almost caught by surprise at his speed. She fought back diligently, but he quickly outskilled her and soon she was on her knees, her sword knocked from her hand, and his pressed gently against the side of her neck. 

“Sorry,” she said quietly, and the assassin took the blade away, holding out his hand to help her up.

“Do not apologize; merely practice your fighting until you can defend yourself. You already show promise, but you will never improve unless you keep practicing. When you are ready, I will be proud to fight by your side.”

She blushed, her cheeks coloring a rosy hue. “Thank you.”

He clapped her on the shoulder, giving her a half smile, then spotted another assassin over at the corner of the room. Nodding goodbye to the apprentice, he approached the other assassin. 

“Good day, Matteo.”

“Good day, brother,” the other assassin replied, smiling broadly. “I hear you have an important mission for the brotherhood today.”

“The Templars never sleep—nor do we.”

“True enough, true enough. I saw you sparring with Gabriella—she is coming on, yes?”

"She is. She must apply herself more, though."

"Perhaps."

"If you wish, I will assist in the training of the apprentices when I have a spare moment."

Matteo looked delighted. "Brother, that would be a great help! No one in our chapter of the brotherhood wields a blade quite like you, and to have your wealth of knowledge and experience would be highly beneficial, I am sure." Matteo stepped closer, and the assassin only just managed to fight the urge to step away. "And speaking of your knowledge and experience, to say nothing of your skill with your, ahem, blade…" Matteo murmured, smirking, "it has been weeks since we last lay together. Perhaps we could liaise tonight?"

The assassin tamped down his initial reaction, to squirm uncomfortably. His liaisons with Matteo had been pleasurable, true enough, but there was something about the other man that he did not like. "Perhaps," he said noncommittally, and Matteo’s face fell into a moue of disappointment. 

"Well. I shall see you later anyhow. Good luck on your mission."

The assassin inclined his head and made his way to the entrance of the bureau. It was a rooftop entrance, as of course most assassins bureaus were, and he scaled the wall, making his way between buildings with ease. As he neared the Piazza Della Signoria, he threw himself off the top of a high building in a leap of faith, landing in a cart filled with hay. After peering out through the stalks to make sure that there was no one around, he jumped out, brushing the hay from his cloak. 

Hood up to disguise his features, he walked slowly towards the Piazza. He knew the route which Esposito would be taking, and lay in wait in the alleyway near the Piazza where the target would pass by, pretending to be drunk as he sat on the ground. It was not an unusual sight in Florence, and people simply passed him by without a second glance. 

As the sun reached its peak, the assassin spotted Esposito walking towards him. Staggering to his feet, the assassin groaned as though in pain, and when Esposito passed him without even a look, the assassin stepped behind him and thrust his hidden blade into the man’s side. The assassin looked up—

—And saw the man who he had noticed the night before, staring at them from the opening of the alleyway, mouth open as if to scream. Thinking quickly, the assassin dropped the corpse of his target and ran up to the man, who seemed frozen to the spot. 

"Come with me silently and I will spare you," the assassin murmured in the young man’s ear, and when he received a nod of assent, the assassin grabbed his arm, pulling him through the alleyway to a nearby safe house. 

***

When Stefano had begun his day, he had little thought that he would end up witnessing the murder of his old master, then be kidnapped by the murderer. Yet here he was, in a dark room somewhere near the Piazza. 

"Why did you murder my master?" he asked quietly. 

"Because some men deserve to die," the murderer said sharply. "Your master was a Templar, and no Templar deserves to live."

"I don't understand."

The man sighed. "If I let you go, what will you do? Will you report me to the guards?" 

Stefano held his peace, unwilling to lie, but also unwilling to tell the truth and be killed himself. 

At length, the man drew up a chair near to where Stefano sat. "You are Stefano di Ruggiero, I take it."

"I am. Who are you?"

"A master assassin. You do not need to know my name."

"An assassin?" Stefano’s head was reeling. Why would someone send an assassin to kill his master, a good man?

As if he had heard Stefano's thoughts, the assassin sighed. "I come from a brotherhood who have existed for centuries to stop the Templars’ evil schemes. They would remove free will from all humanity under the guise of searching for peace, but it is control that many of them want. Your master had been corrupted by them, and sought to corrupt you and all his students to their diabolical cause."

Stefano's eyes widened. "And that is why you murdered him?"

"Is it murder when you are dispensing justice to an evil person?" The assassin looked amused now. "I would say not, but perhaps here we differ." He paused. "I saw you, last night. Standing at your window."

"That was you?" If only he had told the guards this morning; perhaps his master would still be alive. Although, given what the assassin had said, Stefano was finding it increasingly difficult to mourn his master’s passing. If what the assassin said was true. 

"It was."

"Why did you kill that guard?"

"He, too, worked for the Templars. Many of the guards in Florence do. They have positioned their pieces as in a game of chess. My brotherhood is all that stands between humanity and their schemes."

Stefano took a deep breath, trying to calm his still racing heart, and found himself studying the assassin’s features. He was the most handsome man that Stefano had ever seen, that much was true: his grey-blue eyes were piercing; his cheekbones and jawline sharp; his brown hair, neatly tied back, would fall in a silky wave to his shoulders when loose; his mouth was full and lush. Stefano realized that he had been staring and dropped his eyes, blushing. 

"Will—will you let me go?" Stefano asked softly. 

"I ask you again: will you report me to the guards if I do?"

Stefano thought for a moment, then reluctantly shook his head. If what this assassin said was true, then perhaps his master had at heart been truly evil. 

"How can I help you?"

The assassin raised an eyebrow. "You wish to help in the fight against the rising evil of the Templars?"

Stefano frowned. "I don't even know your name."

The assassin smiled. "My mother calls me Giacomo. Everyone else calls me Bucky."

"Does your mother know you are an assassin?"

Bucky's expression shuttered. "Yes. The Templars took her, and my father and younger sister, because we were a family of assassins. Only I escaped, and I have been searching for them ever since."

"I am sorry," Stefano whispered, and Bucky shrugged. 

"What is, is. I will find them, and the Templars will pay."

Stefano couldn't help but believe that the assassin meant it. 

"I want to help. If they are as evil as you say, and they corrupted my master, then it is their fault he had to die and I need to help."

Bucky's expression softened. "Perhaps you will be able to some day. I will call on you if the need arises." He stood, and held out his hand. Stefano took it, allowing himself to be pulled up off the chair. "For now, I will walk you back to your apartment. I would not want for you to get lost on the way."

Stefano knew that Bucky was only taking precautions, but it stung a little. Still, it meant that they got to spend more time together. 

He stamped on that thought as soon as it crossed his mind. Evil or not, his master had been a friend, and this man had killed him in cold blood. No matter how attractive he was, he was still a killer, and Stefano would do well to remember that. 

***

As they made their way through the streets of Florence, Bucky could not help but shoot glances at his companion every few moments. Slight of build, and considerably shorter than Bucky himself, Stefano's vibrant humanity made him stand out from the crowd. 

And oh, but he was handsome. His sandy hair was short under his flat woolen cap, and his deep blue eyes seemed to pierce Bucky's very soul. His features had a delicate beauty to them that was somehow also imbued with strength. If Bucky was not careful, he was in serious danger of falling for this young man. And a danger it was, because assassins could ill afford attachments, especially to those not in the brotherhood who could not defend themselves as well and were likely to become a target for the Templars, were they to find out. 

When they reached Stefano’s apartment, Bucky walked him up to his front door. As Stefano moved to go inside, Bucky caught his arm. 

“Tell no one of what you saw today. If anyone asks, you waited for your master, who did not show up, and eventually you left. You could be in as much danger from the Templars as from the brotherhood if you were to talk.”

Stefano merely gazed at him with those astonishingly blue eyes. “I won’t tell anyone,” he said quietly, before slipping into his apartment and closing the door behind him. 

“Until we meet again,” Bucky murmured at the solid wood of the door, then swept back down the stairway and out into the afternoon sunshine. 

He arrived back at the bureau rooftop thirty minutes later, and swung down into the cool shade of the entrance. For all that it was November, the day was unseasonably warm, and Bucky’s heavy cloak was weighing him down. 

Shrugging the woolen garment from his shoulders, he hung it on a nail with the others and made his way straight to Mentor’s rooms. The door was open, and when he looked around the jamb he saw the Mentor deep in conversation with Alessandro. Bucky knocked politely, and the two men turned.

“Bucky! I see you have returned. And your mission?”

Bucky nodded at the Mentor. “Esposito is dead.”

“And di Ruggiero?”

Bucky hesitated, before sighing,. “He turned the corner just as I dispatched Esposito. I managed to get to him before he could sound the alarm, and explained to him the reasoning behind his master’s death."

The Mentor regarded him solemnly. "And what was his response?"

"He blames the Templars for his master’s death, not the brotherhood, and wishes to avenge him by helping us."

"That is indeed excellent news," the Mentor responded, smiling. "We can use all the allies we can get in our fight against the evil of the Templars." He paused thoughtfully. "Yes, we could use someone with an influence with the Medicis."

Bucky managed to hide his distaste at the thought of "using" Stefano. Though he could see his Mentor’s point, it was an ugly way of putting it, as though Stefano was to have no agency at all. But he held his tongue. Such conversations would lead to questions that Bucky himself was not sure he could yet answer. 

Dismissed by the Mentor, Bucky made his way back through the corridors to the kitchens. As he walked, his thoughts drifted towards Stefano. He shook his head. Foolish, to let his thoughts go in such a direction. Even if he were able to pursue something with the young man, he did not know if Stefano would be open to his advances. 

As he passed the door to a broom closet, he heard footsteps creeping behind him and was immediately on his guard. When a hand grasped his wrist he was ready, spinning around and taking them by surprise, pushing them up against the closet door, hidden blade to their throat. 

Matteo grinned at him, not looking at all fazed at having a blade pressed against his sensitive flesh. 

"Why, Bucky, and I thought you might be glad to see me."

Bucky pressed him harder against the wall, and felt something hot and hard against his hip. Matteo was getting off on being manhandled, and Bucky felt himself harden in response. 

Matteo's grin turned into a smirk, and as Bucky pulled his arm back, retracting his hidden blade, Matteo maneuvered them so they were in the dark closet, door shut firmly behind them. 

Before Bucky could say anything, Matteo's mouth was on his, and his hands were fumbling with Bucky's breeches, undoing them and pushing them down enough to get his hand on Bucky's jewels. Bucky huffed out a groan as Matteo worked him with practiced ease, spitting into his palm before starting to frig him. Hands scrabbling desperately on Matteo's breeches, Bucky managed to return the favor, and they kissed frantically as they raced to completion. The darkness of the closet merely heightened all of his other senses: every touch of Matteo’s hand against him drove him higher; he could feel every breath from Matteo on his mouth, every butterfly-light touch of lips against his own. 

Matteo spilled first after a particularly enthusiastic squeeze on the head, and the feel of Matteo's warm essence spurting over his fingers pushed Bucky over the edge, as he came with a low cry against Matteo's mouth. 

"Mmm," Matteo hummed contentedly, kissing Bucky with languorous movements. "Perhaps next time I will get to ride your pleasingly rounded ass. I do so enjoy you squeezing around me."

Bucky took his handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the cooling, sticky mess from his hand. "Come, come, Matteo," he said, forcing his tone to be jovial. "We both know you practically beg to get fucked when we lie together. How many times have I enjoyed that ass now?"

Matteo growled, pushing Bucky back against the wall of the closet, and squeezing Bucky's asscheeks tightly with his strong fingers. "And the twice I have been allowed access to your ass has been heaven, and I wish to be inside you again."

"Perhaps later," Bucky said dismissively. "For now I intend to visit Madama Beatrice."

"Ah." Matteo drew back. Bucky could hear him doing up his breeches again, and likewise followed suit. "Do send her my regards."

"I shall."

Once they had tidied themselves up a little, Bucky opened the closet door. No one was around. He strode away, without a word to Matteo, and cursed himself for being so weak as to succumb to Matteo's obvious charms. 

***

Stefano had spent the entire afternoon painting like a wild dervish, trying to forget what he had witnessed earlier that day. By the time the guards came he had calmed a great deal, although he was still somewhat on edge. 

“Stefano di Ruggiero?” one of the guards asked when he opened the door, and Stefano nodded.

“I am he.”

“You were supposed to meet with your master this afternoon in the Piazza Della Signoria, correct?”

Stefano schooled his face into an expression of concern. “I was, but he did not arrive. Did something happen?”

The guards looked at each other. “He was murdered, on Via dei Cerchi, by an unknown assailant.”

Stefano, despite everything he now knew, felt his eyes well up with tears as his soul mourned the loss of someone who had been a trusted friend and master. “Oh god.”

“We are sorry to bring you this news,” the guard said, his tone sympathetic. “Did you see or hear anything that might be able to help us?”

Stefano shook his head. “I am sorry, but no. Would that I had! I wish I could see those responsible put to justice. He was…” Stefano swallowed around the lump in his throat. “He was my master, and without him I would never have learned the skills I know today. There was no one so patient, or so kind.”

“Truly, we are sorry for your loss, Signor di Ruggiero.” The guard looked at him kindly. “If you hear anything, or remember seeing anyone suspicious around the Piazza, please let us know.”

“I will,” Stefano lied. “And I pray that you find those responsible. May God have mercy on their souls.”

The guards gave him a nod and left, and Stefano closed the door behind them, heaving a sigh of relief. His mouth set itself in a grim line. Those responsible would be brought to justice, but not by the hands of the guards. The brotherhood of assassins would find them and send them to hell, where they belonged. 

Stefano began to wonder if he would see the handsome assassin Bucky again, and his heartbeat sped up as he remembered in detail that beautiful face, those lush lips ripe for kissing, that large muscled body underneath the layers of clothing. He wondered what it would be like to be bedded by someone so beautiful and so strong—wondered if Bucky had the will to dominate or be dominated in bed. Perhaps, if Stefano was lucky, Bucky would be like him, without a preference other than the pleasure of his partner. 

He shook his head. He did not even know if Bucky liked to lie with men. But as a fantasy… Stefano could imagine those beautiful lips wrapped around him while those astonishing blue-grey eyes looked up at him. The very thought made him stiffen in his breeches, and he palmed himself through the fabric, groaning at the pressure on his sensitive flesh. 

He undid his breeches and pushed them halfway down his thighs, then lay on his bed. With one hand, he played with his bollocks, rolling them in his fingers. The other frigged his spindle, slowly at first, squeezing the foreskin over the head to spread around the moisture at the tip, then pulling it down to reveal the rosy pinkness. When he ran his thumb over the top, squeezing gently, his fiddle jumped and leaked in his hand, making him groan softly. 

He spat into his palm and began to frig himself faster, with more intent. He could feel his climax building, and as the image of Bucky on his knees came back into his mind, Stefano came hard, essence spurting over his fingers and the hem of his tunic as he gave a long, low moan. 

As he lay there, panting and trying to catch his breath, he brought his hand up to his mouth, licking the essence from it, imagining it to be Bucky's. How would he taste, Stefano wondered? Bitter, salty, or with a hint of sweetness?

He wiped his tunic on his blanket, before tucking himself back into his breeches and doing them up. His eyes began to drift closed in the afterglow, and he pulled one of the blankets over himself, falling into a light catnap. 

***

Bucky made his way through the streets towards Via Geraldi, where Madama Beatrice resided with her girls. It was the biggest and most popular house of ill repute in Florence, and although Bucky had no taste for the female form he was good friends with most of the ladies. He had rescued many of them from the clutches of the city guards on numerous occasions; although they had a certain amount of protection from the businessmen they served, the guards still harassed the girls at every opportunity. 

And speaking of guards harassing people…

As he rounded the corner on Via del Proconsolo, a young woman—a peasant, by her dress—was pleading with four guards to leave her alone. 

"Please, I have done nothing wrong!" she cried as one of the guards grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly. 

"We saw you steal a loaf of bread from the market stall," the guard growled. "Now hand it over, along with anything else you have stolen."

"I did not! I would not steal! I am an honest citizen, now please, let me go!"

Narrowing his eyes, Bucky stride silently up behind one of the laughing guards and struck a hidden blade into his side. As the other guards turned, Bucky let the body drop into the street and drew his sword. The guards did likewise, abandoning the poor woman, and one of them rushed at Bucky. Parrying the attack easily, Bucky kicked the guard back as the other two began to swing at him. 

But Bucky did not train in swordsmanship for naught—he fought off all three of them, dispatching each one quickly while passers by ran screaming from the scene. When the last guard had Bucky's blade run through him, Bucky wiped the blood from his sword and approached the woman. 

"Go home quickly," he said, voice gruff, and the woman smiled. 

"Thank you, kind sir. My husband and brothers shall be told of your good deed here today, and should you ever need them they will assist you."

Bucky could hear more guards approaching and nodded. "Thank you. Now go—more are coming."

The woman ran off and Bucky scaled the building next to him quickly, diving into a nearby rooftop garden to hide. He stayed there, barely even breathing, until he heard the guards disperse, then jumped out, carrying on over the rooftops to his destination. 

When he reached Madama Beatrice’s home, he did not use the door; instead, he jumped onto one of the balconies from a nearby roof and slipped in through one of the large windows into the upstairs corridor. Making his way downstairs to Madama Beatrice’s office, he passed two politicians, a Medici cousin, and a prominent banker heading up to the rooms with the working girls. 

At the strident, "Enter!", Bucky opened the door of the office. He was barely past the threshold when Madama Beatrice flung herself at him, wrapping him in a hug. 

"Giacomo Barnes di Firenze! You are a sight for my sore, aging eyes, my boy." 

Bucky hugged her back, and she held him at arms’ length, looking him over. She was in her mid-fifties now, but still retained the beauty of her younger years. Although she only ran the house—she no longer worked herself—men of all ages still offered her disgusting amounts of money in an attempt to bed her. Her black hair, now shot with white, was tied in plaits wrapped around her head; her skin still smooth and supple; her features still youthful and beautiful. There were some crows feet around her eyes which had not been there before, to be sure, but they merely added to the animated character of her heart-shaped face. And her eyes… amber, like two jewels set into her face. Still bright and piercing, as though they could see into and understand your very soul. 

"Any word, my boy, on your family?" she asked quietly once the door was closed behind him. 

Bucky shook his head. "None, and I begin to lose hope, for surely if they were still in Florence someone would have heard something."

"And what of your eternal struggle against the forces of evil?"

"They thrust, we parry; we thrust, they parry. It never ends."

Beatrice sat back in her sumptuous chair. "I hear from my girls that the artist master Francesco Esposito was assassinated earlier today. Your handiwork?"

"Yes. He had been corrupted, and sought to corrupt others. We could not let him spread their evil ways."

"He was a good client, though I agree that he could not have been allowed to live." Beatrice sighed. "Well, may he rest in peace. I remember he once brought one of his students here—he was but a young boy then, too young for such sports as we offer here. He was perhaps ten years of age, and rather small and sickly. I entertained him myself with some games, with some of my girls, while the other girls entertained his master. I think, if memory serves, his name was Stefano."

Bucky tensed slightly, and although he tried to hide it Beatrice still noticed. 

"You know the young man?"

"We have met recently, yes."

Beatrice’s eyes twinkled knowingly. "And I take it you find him pleasing to look at?"

"He is…" Bucky let out a sigh. "Despite his slight stature he is one of the most vital and dynamic men I have ever met. And yes, his features are very pleasing."

"If he is the same Stefano who is now working on a commission for a Medici, he goes with men, you know."

"He had better be cautious," Bucky said quietly. "If you know, then who else knows? He must be careful not to be brought up on sodomy charges."

Beatrice laughed. "Oh, my boy, I doubt it is common knowledge. I merely have my sources. I know most things that go on in this city, things even your brotherhood may not be aware of. Rest easy. I doubt your Stefano is in any danger."

"He's not mine," Bucky grumbled, and Beatrice smiled softly at him. 

"Perhaps not. But I know you, Bucky. When you set your mind to something you rarely fail." Seeing Bucky's unease, she changed topic. "Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Your knowledge, my friend," Bucky replied. "I need you to keep your ears to the ground for any news on my family."

"I have been, but I will redouble my efforts," Beatrice vowed. "If I hear anything, you will know about it."

"I thank you."

Beatrice waved a dismissive hand. "It is nothing. You have done me and my girls great service these last few years, as your mother and father did before you. What I owe cannot begin to be repaid, so what little I can do, I will."

"You are too good." Bucky cleared his throat. "I must away now to prepare for an important mission. May you remain in good health, my friend."

"And you." Beatrice stood and kissed him on the cheek. "Take care of yourself."

Bucky nodded and left by the front door, greeting the girls he knew as he departed out onto the bustling city streets. 

***

Stefano had finished his painting for the day, as the light had faded long ago and he had been working by candlelight for an hour. He stretched, washing his brushes before massaging the stiffness from his hand. The painting was coming along nicely, and Stefano had no doubt now that it would be finished well on time. 

He sat down at the small table on the corner to a meager dinner of crusty bread, cheese, and a glass of wine. He could not afford anything more substantial at the moment, but if Clarissa Medici was well pleased with his work then hopefully his fortunes would be looking up. 

As he ate, he reflected on the events of the day. To say it had been strange was understating it somewhat, but he couldn't help but wonder if and when he would encounter Bucky again. He hoped that it would be soon, as the assassin intrigued him more than he cared to admit. He trusted Bucky for some reason—trusted that he would find the Templars and make them pay for corrupting his master. Stefano cast his mind back to their conversation, wondering what Bucky had meant by saying that the Templars intended to remove free will from humanity. How was such a thing to be achieved? For surely humanity would fight back against such a move. 

Stefano resolved to ask the question of Bucky were they to meet again. In the meantime, he knew the conundrum would play on his mind. 

He suddenly remembered that Bucky had told him that his family had been kidnapped by the Templars, and his heart ached for the assassin. Stefano had lost his father as an infant, and his mother six years previous, when he was aged only nineteen. She had died of the king’s evil, a horrible wasting disease, and it had broken Stefano's heart to watch his once strong mother succumb to such a horrific illness. 

His dinner finished, he washed his plate and wine glass from the bucket of rainwater hanging from his window, and dried them with a cloth. It could not have been long past two hours after sunset, and he had slept earlier, but the stress of the day was catching up with him and he found himself to be exhausted. 

And yet, for all that he could barely keep his eyes open, Stefano begrudged the idea of going to his bed. Instead, he sat back at the table with his sketchbook, his pencil hovering over the page. He longed to draw Bucky from memory, but something told him that might put them both in danger were it to be discovered. Instead, he drew a quick self portrait, pencil flying over the paper as he worked. 

When he was satisfied, he put his sketchbook and pencil away, and readied himself for bed. Mass would be an hour after sunrise the next morning, and for all the sins on his soul, Stefano did not want that of missing Sunday mass added. 

He locked the window shutters tight, then climbed onto the thin mattress, and was asleep within moments. 

Stefano awoke at sunrise the next morning, and climbed out of bed, yawning. He stripped out of his nightshirt and washed in the cold water from the jug by his bedside, shivering in the chill of the early winter morning. Morning ablutions completed, he dressed quickly. He would, of course, break his fast when he got back from mass, as he intended to take holy communion. 

He stepped out of his apartment block onto Via del Canto Revolto, and made his way quickly to the Chiesa di San Remigio, the closest church to his home. Sitting in his usual pew near the back, he listened solemnly to the priest as he sermonized on the wages of sin and fornication. Stefano tried not to squirm in his seat as he thought of how he had sinned the day before, firstly indulging in self love, and secondly thinking about another man while he did so. May God forgive him, but he would do it again. And were Bucky willing, he would happily lie with him, which was a grave sin too. 

Or it was, at least, according to the church. Stefano… well, he wasn't so sure. After all, why would God have made him a lover of men, if he was not supposed to take a man as his lover?

When he went up for communion, the wafer and wine gave him no comfort. He got back to the pew and knelt on the hard, wooden kneeler, and prayed. Prayed for his own soul, for Bucky's soul, and lastly for his master's soul, for God knew that his evils were of such gravity that his place in heaven was not necessarily secured. 

When mass was ended, Stefano made his escape, and went for a walk to clear his mind. Before he knew where he was, he found himself at the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, and stepped inside. Mass there had ended, but he knelt at the back, admiring the beautiful frescos in between prayers that Bucky might remain safe. 

_He does your will, oh Lord,_ he prayed silently. _That I do believe. Oh God, please watch over him, guide him, and let him find his family and bring justice to those who took them. Let him and his brotherhood rain justice upon those who seek to corrupt the innocent, who seek to remove the free will which you bestowed on us. Lord God, hear my prayer._

As he stood, one of the priests approached him. "Hello, my son," the old man said, voice as frail and dry as thin parchment. "Mass has ended, I'm afraid, though there is another at sunset."

"I have been to mass at my own church," Stefano replied, his tone apologetic. "I merely came for private prayer."

"Then I am sorry to have disturbed you, my son." The old priest paused. "Would you like me to pray with you? Is there anything in particular you have on your mind?"

Touched by the priest’s kindness, Stefano nodded. "My master—Francesco Esposito—was murdered yesterday by an unknown assailant. I would be grateful if you would join me in praying for his soul."

The priest inclined his head, and sat next to Stefano. "Let us pray," he said, and Stefano crossed himself. "Let the soul of the dearly departed master Esposito find peace in your light, oh Lord. May he be found deserving of a place in your heaven, with the host of angels and all the saints. Watch over him, Lord, as I ask you to watch over this young man here, his apprentice. May he always walk in the light of your countenance, never hesitating to do what is right and what is your will. We ask this in the name of your son, Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God forever and ever. Amen."

"Amen," Stefano repeated hoarsely, his mouth dry. 

The old priest patted Stefano's hand. "Now, go with God, my son, and include your master in all your daily prayers."

"I will," Stefano replied, and the priest smiled at him before standing and shuffling away back towards the sacristy. 

Slightly more at ease of mind, Stefano left the Piazza del Duomo and wandered slowly back to his apartment, completely oblivious to the three figures watching the Piazza from the top of a building opposite the Cattedrale. 

***

Bucky tried not to watch Stefano as he walked past on the street below. Cassandra seemed to notice his distraction, and looked at him questioningly. 

"It's nothing," he murmured, and Cassandra nodded, still looking doubtful. 

Their position was not comfortable, lying as they were on their stomachs on the flat rooftop so as to be as invisible as possible, but being an assassin taught you many things. One of the most important was to subliminate discomfort; another was extreme patience. And patience was needed that day, as they had some hours to wait until after the mass at sunset. 

Luckily, as it was winter, sunset was early in the day. As the sun went down, the temperature on the rooftop dropped considerably, and Bucky tugged his cloak closer around himself. The crowds were making their way into the Cattedrale now, and Bucky blinked slowly, relieved that they would hopefully not have so much longer to wait. 

Mass took around an hour, and once the crowds had dispersed from inside, all was silent in the Piazza. It was dark now, the only light from a few lamps, and Bucky concentrated, using his eagle vision to view the surrounding area. He immediately noted four men approaching from the north—three guards, and one other man. Bucky recognized him immediately. 

"Gioffre Borgia," Alessandro murmured. "I had not heard that he was in the city."

"Nor I," Bucky whispered back. "He must be overseeing the retrieving of the clue to the whereabouts of the apple."

When the four men had entered the Cattedrale, the assassins dived off the rooftop one by one in a leap of faith into a barrow full of leaves below. Creeping silently towards the door of the Cattedrale, they slipped inside. 

Down into the crypt they went, and as they reached the bottom of the stone stairs, voices echoed up to them. Bucky, who was leading the way, stopped abruptly. 

"Keep looking! The clue is meant to be in the tomb of Brunelleschi." That was Gioffre Borgia’s voice, Bucky knew. He sounded impatient. 

"My lord, I think I've found something!" one of the guards exclaimed, and Bucky peered around the corner to see the four men staring at two small objects on Gioffre’s palm. 

"This is excellent. My sister will indeed be pleased," Gioffre said softly, and Bucky turned to his fellow assassins, nodding, before charging into the crypt, sword drawn. 

He had run through the first guard before he could even turn around, and Gioffre backed away in horror as the other guards drew their swords. 

As the assassins fought the guards, Gioffre made a break for it, past them and up the stairs. Bucky immediately threw one of his knives, but Gioffre ducked. The knife bounced uselessly off of the stone wall where Gioffre's head had been only moments before. 

"Damn!" Bucky exclaimed, immediately giving chase. Up the stone steps he ran, through the Cattedrale, and out into the night. He spotted Gioffre running to the north and took off after him, but as he followed, several guards approached down a street. 

"He is chasing me! He means to murder me!" Gioffre shouted to the guards, who were immediately on the alert. Bucky cursed and scaled the building next to him, running back towards the Duomo. Disappointment weighed heavily in his chest. Not only had he failed to kill all his targets, the most important had escaped with the clue to the location of a piece of Eden, with which they could easily put their evil schemes into motion. 

When he reached the Cattedrale, the others were already outside. 

"Did you finish him?" Alessandro asked, but Bucky shook his head. 

"I was nearly intercepted by an entire battalion of guards. Damn it! And he has escaped with the clue."

"Not quite, brother," Alessandro responded, grinning, and held out his hand. In it was one of the objects Gioffre had been holding. 

"How?"

"He must have dropped it in the confusion. Good news for us, brother."

"But bad news for Gioffre," Bucky replied, grinning. "Come, let us return to the bureau and report to the Mentor."

The trio made their way back to the bureau, jumping and running across the rooftops until they reached their destination. One by one they swung down into the bureau entrance, before striding triumphantly through the hallways to the Mentor. 

The Mentor looked up from his writing when they entered his rooms. "You have returned! What news?"

Bucky bowed his head. "I am sorry, Mentor. Gioffre Borgia escaped with some of the clue. The fault was mine. I make no excuse."

"Come now, my son, that is not like you to fail in your mission. Tell me what happened."

Bucky explained the events of the evening, and the Mentor nodded. 

"It is as I expected. Some circumstances are outwith your control. Would that the battalion had not been there at that time!" He paused, raising an eyebrow. "And yet the three of you seem to be well pleased with yourselves."

"Well," Bucky said with a grin, "he only made away with part of the clue."

Alessandro handed over the second object, and the Mentor’s eyes lit up. 

"You have done well. I know not what this is or what purpose it serves, but if Gioffre is missing this part then his chances of finding the apple will be greatly reduced. You have done well."

"Thank you, Mentor," Bucky said, and the others echoed him. 

The Mentor inspected the object closely. It was metal, heavier than something so small should be, and inscribed with various indecipherable symbols. 

"Was there any clue as to how this should be used?" the Mentor asked, and Alessandro shook his head.

"No, Mentor. There was nothing."

The Mentor nodded solemnly. "Would that there were, perhaps we could have found a new hiding place for the apple, one where the Templars would never think to look." He pressed his thumb into the indentation at the top, and suddenly the room filled with light. As the four shaded their eyes from the sudden luminance, the light faded slightly, and a map of golden threads began to form in the air. 

"A map to the hiding place of the apple!" Cassandra whispered, awed. 

"But there are large pieces missing," Bucky pointed out. "Too many pieces to try and guess where the apple might be."

"Wherever this map is from, the apple is clearly at the center," the Mentor said, and Bucky looked closely to see an image of a golden apple sitting above the middle of the map. Bucky gave a sudden cry of realization, and the others stared at him. "What is it, my son?" the Mentor asked, and Bucky pointed. 

"Look, here, and here, and here—I believe that this map is of Venice!"

"Venice?" The Mentor said, confused, then his face cleared as realization dawned. "Of course! Those wider threads must be the canals! If we could only see the rest of the map."

"Well, Gioffre said he was taking the clue to his sister, and so we must find Lucrezia and make her give up the other part of the map."

The Mentor nodded. "I believe she is currently residing in Vallombrosa for the winter. The three of you must ride out before first light tomorrow and make your way there to retrieve the other clue."

Bucky knew a dismissal when he heard one. "Yes, Mentor," he said, bowing and leaving with his companions. As they walked through the corridors, he turned to them. "Get some sleep. We ride early."

Cassandra nodded, and headed towards the women's sleeping area. Alessandro laid a hand on Bucky's arm. "And you, brother? Do you intend to sleep?"

"I do, Alessandro," Bucky replied, smiling. "But first I must run an errand."

"The less said the better, I take it," Alessandro responded with a laugh. "Very well. I shall see you on the morrow."

Bucky clapped him on the shoulder and left, mouth set in a grim line as he traversed the rooftops. 

***

Stefano had finished his supper and just changed into his nightgown when there was a sharp knock on his door. He pulled the door open, and stifled a gasp when he saw Bucky standing there, face half hidden by his cloak. 

"Bucky?"

"Stefano." Bucky looked at him expectantly, and Stefano blushed. 

"Sorry, please, come in."

He moved to one side to allow Bucky into the apartment, rubbing his arm self consciously. He looked around, seeing the small, cramped space as an outsider would see it, and tried not to squirm uncomfortably. 

"I like your apartment," Bucky said quietly, and Stefano started. 

"You do? I mean, thank you."

There was a hint of a smile playing about Bucky's lips, although his eyes were still shadowed by his hood. 

"I ride for Vallombrosa in the morning," Bucky said suddenly, and Stefano looked at him curiously. 

"Oh?"

"We intend to pay a visit to Lucrezia Borgia."

Bucky's tone was stony. Stefano tilted his head to the side and blinked. 

"What business do you have with the Borgias?"

"The Borgias? The most famous Templar family in Italy?" Bucky gave a harsh laugh. "I have much business with them. Her brother Gioffre stole something which would lead the Templars to something which would help them with their plans, and we intend to take it back."

Stefano nodded. "And why are you telling me this?"

Bucky hesitated; only for a moment, but the hesitation was there. "We may need your help when I return," he said at length, and Stefano tried not to look too disappointed. 

"Oh."

"Have you changed your mind about assisting the brotherhood?"

"No." Stefano shook his head. "I will help in any way I can."

"Good. I must away—we ride early tomorrow. I will come for you when I return."

Stefano nodded as Bucky swept from the apartment, cloak billowing behind him. When Stefano went to close the door and looked out onto the landing, Bucky was already gone. 

Sighing, Stefano turned, and betook himself to bed. Before he fell asleep, however, he sent up a prayer for Bucky and his friends, that they might return safely from their mission. 

***

Bucky slept very ill that night, his thoughts full of Stefano in such a state of undress as he would not have thought to see him yet, if ever. His short nightgown only just covered his buttocks, and his legs were slender and pale, with only a small dusting of hair. Bucky wanted to push that nightgown up, fall to his knees, and…

He bit his lip, pressing his hips against the mattress, but the pressure on his hard flesh did nothing to help. Turning on his side, he curled up, and willed himself to soften so that he might sleep. He thought of death; of blood, and the stench and sights, sounds and feels of it—and finally found himself drifting off into a disturbed slumber. 

The following morning, he was shaken awake by Alessandro, who was already up and dressed. "Wake up, slug-a-bed," Alessandro whispered, careful not to wake the others. "Dress yourself, for it is almost time to leave."

Yawning, Bucky did so, making sure he had all his weapons before following Alessandro out. They met with Cassandra at the entrance to the bureau, and made their way to the stables. 

Bucky's horse was a fine sorrel palfrey, good natured and well used to riding long distances. When he mounted her, she whinnied, shaking her head, and he patted her rump. 

"Good girl," he murmured, and she whinnied again. 

They set off, joking and laughing between them. On the way, they sang songs to pass the time, ranging from the childish to the ribald, and perhaps unsurprisingly Cassandra knew the best of the latter. 

Finally, several hours later, they arrived at Vallombrosa, and left their horses in a stable near an inn. The stable boy they paid well, to ensure that their horses would still be there when they returned. 

It was mid afternoon, and the three assassins were both hungry and thirsty. At the inn they ate a light lunch of bread and cheese, and drank a small glass of wine each. As they paid the innkeeper, the door was flung open, and Gioffre strode in with six guards. The assassins immediately walked quickly to the back of the inn, before Gioffre could see them and ruin their plans. They did not want to make trouble in such a public place.

Their next port of call was the home of Lucrezia, and Bucky led the others through the winding streets to her villa. There, they found a spot to lie in wait. 

They had not been there long when Lucrezia herself came out into the garden. "Fetch my brother," she told one of the guards. "This must go to the Grand Master, and I want him to take it himself and explain why it is incomplete."

She put the object in her pocket, and turned towards the house. The assassins, acting quickly, scaled the garden walls and ambushed her. Cassandra's blade at her throat, Lucrezia sneered at them, waving back her guards. 

"Assassins. I should have known from the odd stench that some of your number were about."

Bucky strode forward, taking the object from her pocket as she struggled slightly, and put it securely in a pouch at his waist. Bowing ironically, he stepped back. 

"Shall I dispatch her?" Cassandra asked, but Bucky could hear more guards on their way and shook his head. 

"No time. Until next time, my lady." 

Cassandra pushed Lucrezia into the arms of the nearby guards, and the assassins made their escape over the rooftops of the town to the stables. They could hear the shouts of the guards, and paid the stableboy quickly before galloping off, back towards Florence. 

When they had ridden but three miles, Bucky looked back, and slowed his horse. The others followed suit, drawing up beside him. 

"Either they did not give chase or we have lost them," Bucky said slowly. "Either way, luck shines on us today."

They arrived back in Florence when night had already fallen, and went straight to the Mentor, bearing their prize. 

"You have done well," the Mentor said as he held the object in his hands. "You are all a credit to the brotherhood. We can but hope that they could not make out the map themselves."

"We were lucky that the piece that Gioffre dropped was the piece with the location of the apple," Bucky said quietly, and the Mentor clapped him on the shoulder. 

"Aye, it is at that." He handed the other piece to Bucky, nodding, and together they pressed their thumbs into the indentations. Again, the room filled with light, before the map appeared—a clear map of Venice, and in the center, the apple. 

"Is that…?" Cassandra began, and the Mentor nodded. 

"It looks like San Nicolò al Lido," the Mentor said in hushed tones. "Of course. Resting place of Domenico I Contarini, a great friend of the brotherhood. It would make sense if he were to be the keeper of the apple."

"What should we do?" Bucky asked, and the Mentor looked at the map thoughtfully. 

"Nothing, for now. Thanks to you three, it is less than likely that the Templars have enough information to figure out the location of the apple. If we hear any different, then we will make our move."

The Mentor held out his hand. Bucky dropped the object into it, and the map immediately disappeared. 

"Now, go and rest," the Mentor said. "You have done well, all of you."

The trio left, but instead of walking with Alessandro to the sleeping quarters, he made his way out to the rooftops. He had a promise to keep. 

***

Stefano had been restless all day. He had made excellent progress on his painting—in fact, it was nearly completed—but his mind when he was not concentrating on the canvas was a jumble of thoughts. How did Bucky think he could help? Would Bucky even return? Lucrezia Borgia was a formidable woman, and always travelled with many guards. Depending on how many of Bucky’s companions had gone with him, how could they have fought off so many guards?

He was just finishing his supper when the knock came at the door. He flung it open, and there stood Bucky, a half smile on his lips. 

Stefano flung himself at Bucky, embracing him tightly, then pulled back, embarrassed. Under his hood, Bucky appeared to have a matching blush. 

"I told you I would visit you on my return," Bucky said slowly, and Stefano moved to one side to allow Bucky into the apartment. 

"I was worried," Stefano confessed. 

Bucky frowned. "If you worry every time the brotherhood has a mission, you will worry yourself to death. We live and we die. That is the way of things. Would you rather I sat on the sidelines and allowed to Templars to trample over humanity?"

"No," Stefano replied, his tone a little sulky. 

"Well, then."

Stefano gestured for Bucky to sit opposite him at the table, which he did. "So how can I be of assistance?"

"I will need to speak to my Mentor of my plan, but I believe that it would be a good idea for us to lead the Templars down the wrong path by planting a false clue. How are you at drawing maps?"

Stefano shrugged. "As good as at drawing anything, I suppose."

"Good. I will speak with my Mentor and return tomorrow."

Bucky stood, and Stefano did also. "As I have said, any way I can help…"

"Thank you." Bucky inclined his head. "Until tomorrow, then."

He left without another word, and Stefano sighed. Despite his fantasies, Bucky clearly had no interest in him. For him it was all business. 

Frowning, Stefano made himself ready for bed. He would finish the painting on the morrow, and then perhaps he would be able to help with whatever scheme Bucky was concocting. 

***

Bucky slept fitfully, his dreams jumbled and disturbingly vivid, and woke feeling less refreshed than when he had gone to sleep. Nevertheless, he could not lie idle in bed all day, as there were things to be done. 

After dressing and breaking his fast, Bucky made his way to the training room, where several assassins and apprentices were dueling, or merely learning their craft. Some apprentices were being taught to pickpocket by Alessandro, who was leading them a merry dance around the room, and Bucky could not help but smile to see their game. His smile soon faltered, however, as Matteo approached. 

"Matteo," he greeted the other man frostily. 

Matteo either did not notice the frigidness of Bucky's greeting, or chose to ignore it. "Well met, brother! Do you fancy a sparring match?"

Bucky considered this, and after a few moments nodded. 

"Wonderful! I look forward to trouncing you soundly," Matteo said, his tone teasing, but with an undercurrent which told Bucky that he was not really joking. 

They took their places in the sparring ring, and Cassandra clapped her hands. "Begin!" she called, and the assassins drew their swords. 

Matteo moved first, immediately on the attack, almost catching Bucky by surprise. He was an excellent swordsman; Bucky was better. Bucky parried his attacks with ease, and when Matteo made a particularly enthusiastic lunge, Bucky sidestepped and kicked his leg out from under him. He toppled to the floor and rolled. Bucky allowed him the time to get back on his feet, his demeanor studiously bored, and Matteo shook his blond hair out of his flushed face. 

"Well played," Matteo said with a hint of a sneer, "but I intend to win this."

Bucky smirked. "Then beat me… if you can."

Matteo redoubled his efforts, swinging at Bucky with more strength than finesse. Bucky dodged and parried easily, and when Matteo inevitably left himself open, Bucky flicked his sword up. Matteo's mouth opened in shock as his hand flew to his face, coming away bloodied. 

"First blood. Well done, brother," Matteo said, voice strained. 

"Do you yield?"

"Never." Matteo stepped forward and they began to battle again, with more ferocity and intent. Bucky felt as though he were fighting for his very life, and fought back accordingly. He noticed the flash of a small dagger in Matteo's hand and before Matteo could blink Bucky knocked both sword and dagger down, driving Matteo to his knees with Bucky's sword against his neck. 

As the assassins watching applauded, Bucky leaned down. "You know, I think I prefer you on your knees," he murmured, and Matteo's face flushed furiously. Bucky smirked, and stood, putting out a hand to help Matteo up. The other man ignored him, instead getting to his feet alone. 

One of the apprentices came up then to beg Bucky for some training, and he put Matteo to the back of his mind. He would deal with whatever Matteo's problem was later. 

After a few training sessions, Bucky left the training room and made his way to the Mentor. The Mentor smiled to see him. 

"Hello, my boy. What troubles you?"

"I have had an idea for misleading the Templars on to a wild goose chase," Bucky began, “and I believe that Signor di Ruggiero can help us."

"How so?" the Mentor asked, expression intrigued. 

“I believe that we should have di Ruggiero make a map of Rome for them to follow to try and find the apple—given to them in such a way that they do not doubt its validity."

"How do you propose we do that?" 

“I will go and pretend to try and assassinate Gioffre Borgia. While there, the map will conveniently fall from my pocket."

"A good plan indeed," the Mentor said, impressed. "Ask this di Ruggiero to complete the map quickly, then take Matteo with you to stand guard while you infiltrate Gioffre’s home."

Bucky smothered a frown. He would much rather take Alessandro, or Cassandra, but the Mentor’s will was the Mentor’s will. "It shall be done as you ask."

"Good. Now fetch Matteo, for I would tell him of this mission myself."

Bucky went immediately to Matteo, whose eyes narrowed when he saw Bucky approach. 

"Come to gloat?"

"No. The Mentor has a mission for us. You should come with me to him now."

Matteo inclined his head, and walked with Bucky back to the Mentor. 

The Mentor immediately embraced Matteo, and Bucky tried not to grimace. Although the Mentor did not play favorites with the assassins, Matteo being his own son meant that the Mentor was more likely to show him affection. 

"I have an important mission for you, my son," the Mentor said, clapping Matteo on the shoulder. "Giacomo has had a wonderful idea to mislead the Templars, and I want you to go with him to make sure no harm comes to him."

Matteo inclined his head. "And what is this wonderful idea, if I may ask?"

The Mentor smiled. "A fake map of the location of the apple of Eden, to be planted in the bedroom of Gioffre Borgia. Bucky will pretend to be there for an assassination attempt, and when the alarm is raised he will ‘accidentally’ drop the map."

"A fine plan indeed," Matteo said, raising an eyebrow. "And when is this to take place?"

"Tomorrow night, I think," the Mentor said. "Yes, the sooner the better."

Matteo bowed. "It will be done as you ask, father."

"Good lad. Now go and make your plans!"

Thus dismissed, Bucky and Matteo found a quiet corner in the bureau library to discuss their plans. 

"I need you to be ready in case anyone comes," Bucky said. "Where would be the best vantage point? The street? Or the rooftop opposite?"

"The rooftop, I think," Matteo replied. 

"Good. If you see anyone coming, a bird call will warn me."

"When should we make our way there?"

Bucky thought for a moment. "I would say two hours after sunset. By the time we arrive the Templar scum should be abed."

"Then it is decided. Hopefully it will all go to plan."

"Of that I have no doubt. The Mentor wills it."

Matteo inclined his head in agreement. "And now, you have been busy of late and I have barely seen you. Will you meet me in our meeting place tonight? I have a will to fuck you until you beg."

Bucky, despite being a young man with carnal urges, could not help but think of Stefano. That beautiful young man, what would he think of Bucky dallying with someone he did not even respect? Besides, if he were to have a chance with the artist, he must have no other attachments, for he felt that were he to ever form an attachment with Stefano, he would belong to the other man completely. 

With that in mind, Bucky shook his head. "I thank you, but no."

"No?" Matteo raised an eyebrow. "That is not like you, to turn down a good fucking. Do you ail for something?"

"I do not."

"Then what is it? Could it be that…" Matteo's gaze hardened. "Could it be that someone else has caught your eye? Come, tell me who. Is it Alessandro? Giovanni? Or someone else? I must know so that I may duel them for you."

"I am not a prize to be won," Bucky growled, "and you will not touch a hair on his head. He is under my protection henceforth, and if you meddle with him I will demand satisfaction."

Matteo held up his hands in surrender. "Then I shall ask no further questions about your new paramour. Anyhow, I have errands to run."

"As have I," Bucky responded. 

"Then let us part on good terms, brother. For I would not wish to quarrel with you."

He held out his hand, and Bucky shook it with reluctance. Matteo bowed, and swept from the library. Once gone, Bucky left too, and made his way to Stefano's apartment once more. 

***

A final flick of the brush and the painting was done. Stefano sat back, admiring his handiwork and checking for any flaws. Finding none, he set the canvas aside to dry. 

He was cleaning the paint from his brushes when there was a familiar knock. Tamping down his excitement, Stefano made his way to the door and opened it, smiling when he saw Bucky on the other side. 

"Come in," he said, and Bucky did so, taking a seat at the table at Stefano's invitation. "How can I help?" he asked, once they were both seated. 

"We are in need of your artistic skills," Bucky began. "I need you to draw a map of the south of Rome, with an x to mark the spot."

Stefano raised an eyebrow. "Am I drawing a treasure map?" he asked, laughing, but fell silent at Bucky's somber look. 

"Yes. One which will hopefully lead the Templars on a wild goose chase. Will you do this for me—for us?"

"I will." Stefano got up to fetch parchment, a pen, and a bottle of ink. "Do you have any map with you for me to work from?"

Bucky nodded, and handed over his own map. "Just this section, please," he said, pointing. 

"Alright."

Stefano set to work, copying the details of the section of the map which Bucky had indicated. He worked quickly but accurately, even with the weight of Bucky's gaze upon him. Careful not to smudge the lines, Stefano blotted each part carefully, then after about an hour sat back, gesturing to the map. 

"Is this what you require?"

Bucky looked at it, and a smile lit up his handsome features such that it nearly took Stefano's breath away. "It is perfect. What an eye for detail you have! Now, if you can put an x over this church, please, and write ‘apple’ next to it."

Stefano did so, gently blotting the parchment once he was done, then handed it to Bucky. 

"This is a great service which you have done the brotherhood," Bucky said, with a sudden solemnity which took Stefano by surprise. "I must offer you payment."

He took out a purse, and Stefano looked at him in disgust. "Keep your coins. I want them not. I do this for my master, to avenge myself on those who twisted his mind and caused his death."

"I caused his death," Bucky said quietly. 

"You did not," Stefano retorted, tone sharp as the blade which hung from Bucky's belt. "You were only the instrument. They are the cause."

"Thank you."

Bucky looked so unhappy that Stefano only just managed to stop himself for reaching for the other man. But he did not know how such a gesture would be received, and kept his own counsel. 

"Would you like some wine?" Stefano asked, a little helplessly, but Bucky shook his head. 

"I should away. There are many preparations to be made for the morrow."

"Is that when you will complete your mission?"

"It is."

"I will pray for you," Stefano vowed, and Bucky looked amused. 

"Pray if you like, whatever good it may do. I will rely on my own skills and knowledge."

Stefano laid his hand on Bucky's arm, and Bucky looked down at it, surprised. 

"Be careful," Stefano said, "and return safe." The ‘to me’ he did not say, although he hoped that Bucky would heat it anyway. But Bucky merely nodded and swept out the door and down the staircase. 

Stefano closed the door and heaved a sigh. At least he had been of use to the brotherhood in some small way, but oh, how he wished that Bucky would see him as more than an asset. 

***

Bucky spent the rest of that day, and the day following, in the training room with the apprentices. Some of them were coming along nicely, although they all needed to work harder, in Bucky's opinion. When he expressed this to Alessandro, the other man smiled. 

"They are young, Bucky. The time will come soon enough when they must work harder and become full assassins."

"We need all the help we can get," Bucky responded. "The sooner they are trained, the sooner they can help and we can take on more apprentices."

"Perhaps you are right. Now on to other things—I hear you and Matteo are on a mission together tonight?"

"Yes."

"Well, the best of luck to both of you."

Bucky inclined his head. "Thank you, Alessandro." 

There was a light tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see Matteo. 

"Are you ready?" Matteo asked, and Bucky nodded. 

"Lead on."

Together, they raced across the rooftops towards the home of Gioffre, and when they reached the villa, dispatched the guards on the roof opposite. Matteo crouched in readiness, as Bucky swung over to the balcony outside Gioffre’s open chamber window. The moon shone brightly down on him, reflecting off the glass of the windows, as he slowly crept into the dark room. 

Bucky was halfway to the bed when he realized that something was wrong. He turned to escape, but there were at least two figures between him and the window. Growling, he drew his sword, whistling a bird call as loudly as he could. 

"Your friend can not hear you," said a familiar voice, as the sound of a striking match preceded lamplight filling the room. Bucky realized he was surrounded, Gioffre himself standing behind his guards, looking smug. 

"What have you done to him?"

"I? I have done nothing. It is what he has done to you that you should perhaps be more concerned about."

Bucky’s blood turned to ice in his veins. "What do you mean?"

"How do you think we knew to expect you? Yes, your friend was most obliging in telling us to expect you and the false clue you intended to plant. Which means, of course, that you must have the real location of the apple, which I intend for you to give us."

"Never!" Bucky yelled, and managed to momentarily wriggle free of the guards holding him, only to be caught again immediately. 

"Oh yes, I think you will talk. And then you will die. And there will be one less assassin to worry about."

Gioffre paused, then backhanded Bucky across the face. Bucky could feel the heavy ring on Gioffre’s finger gash his cheek, but refused to flinch. Gioffre stared at him for a moment, then turned, waving for his guards to follow him. As they dragged him from the room, Bucky went limp. Then, as they reached the doorway, he gathered his strength and fought free of the guards who were holding him. He leapt forward, grabbing hold of Gioffre and pressing one of his hidden blades to the Templar’s throat. 

"Any of you move, he dies," Bucky hissed, and the guards took a step back. Making his way back to the open window, never taking his eyes off of the guards, Bucky waited until he had stepped out onto the balcony. As soon as he was out, he kicked Gioffre back into the room. He spun around, leaping over to the next building. 

The guards immediately gave chase. Bucky had two choices—to turn and fight, or to hope to lose them. Leaping over to another rooftop, he made up his mind, turning and drawing his sword. 

As each guard jumped onto the roof, he kicked them off, stamped on their hands so they fell, or ran them through with his sword. Within a matter of minutes, he had dispatched fifteen guards. He looked across the rooftops. The coast was clear. Sighing with relief, Bucky immediately made his way back to the assassins’ bureau. 

When he arrived, he marched into the corridor, and saw the Mentor talking to Matteo, looking distraught. But when he turned and saw Bucky, his eyes widened, and he looked like he had seen a ghost. 

"Bucky? My boy! But… Matteo told me he'd seen you killed!"

"Looks can be deceptive," Bucky said grimly, stalking up to a fearful looking Matteo and backhanding him across the face. "This… this _worm_ betrayed us. He told Gioffre about the false map and that I would be paying him a visit. He was ready with his guards in an ambush."

The Mentor turned his gaze to Matteo pleadingly. "It can't be true. It's not. Matteo, my son!"

"Father, I…" Matteo began pleadingly, but his demeanor was so obviously guilty—shoulders hunched, eyes darting left to right, tongue coming out to wet dry lips—that no one could mistake it. 

The Mentor straightened. "You have betrayed the brotherhood," he said, his voice unsteady but determined. "And the punishment is death."

There were gasps from the onlookers, and Matteo fell to his knees, sobbing. "Father no, please!"

"Tell me why. Why would you do this?"

Bucky knew, knew that Matteo's actions had been driven by jealousy and thwarted desire. But he held his tongue, waiting on Matteo to speak. 

"Father. Please, Giacomo had abandoned me, abandoned our liaison. It was a foolish act of hatred, and I regret it more than anything I have ever done."

"You regret it because you were caught, not because of the wrong you did." The Mentor’s voice was steely, now. "To betray us for such a petty reason is worse than the betrayal itself." He motioned to Alessandro and Giovanni. "Take him away. Take him to the cells. Let him think on what he has done, and of his fate tomorrow."

Alessandro and Giovanni stepped forward, marching the sobbing Matteo towards the cells. The Mentor slumped, and suddenly looked older than his years. "My son. My own son."

Bucky took a deep breath. "Mentor, I ask that you not do this. Please, spare him."

"Spare him?" The Mentor stared at Bucky. "Spare him? After he betrayed you, betrayed all of us?"

"Yes," Bucky replied. "Banish him, take his weapons, send word to all bureaus in all towns that he is no longer one of us, but do not kill him. For your own sake as much as mine. Feel pity for him, that he would go to such lengths, but do not let anger and disappointment harden your heart. He is your only son."

"That should not make a difference. The law is the law."

"It should not, and yet it does. Remember, above all we are human."

The Mentor grasped Bucky's arms, then pulled him into an embrace. When he drew back, his eyes were wet. "Do you wish to be there when he is told his fate tomorrow?"

"No," Bucky replied, shaking his head. "I would rather not."

"Yes, I understand." The Mentor sighed. "Get some rest. I will speak to you tomorrow when this mess has been dealt with."

Bucky nodded, and went to the sleeping quarters. He undressed and climbed into bed, and was asleep within moments. 

***

Stefano woke slowly in the still-dark morning, until he remembered that Bucky had been on a dangerous mission the night before, and his eyes flew open. 

_Please let him be safe,_ he prayed as he had never prayed before. _Please let him return unharmed._

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching. After his morning ablutions, he dressed, and opened his shutters, looking out on the lightening sky. Closing his window again against the chill, he turned and surveyed his apartment. He supposed he should break his fast, but his worry for Bucky made him feel a little nauseated. 

Instead, he sat at his table with his sketchbook, drawing Bucky's face from memory. He bit his lip as he drew the sharp jaw, the piercing eyes, the full mouth. It was an excellent likeness, and Stefano blushed to think what Bucky would think if he saw that Stefano had been drawing him as he would draw a lover. 

The morning passed slowly. He was waiting on his painting to dry before he could get it ready for transport, and he had no more commissions for the moment, so he was at somewhat of a loose end. If only Bucky would come—but then, why would he, unless he needed more help? They weren't even friends; merely acquaintances who had met under odd circumstances. 

As the sun crept to its highest point, Stefano was so restless he knew he had to get out of his apartment. As he reached for his cloak, there was a knock on the door. 

Stefano stared at the door in disbelief. It couldn't be… could it?

Stepping slowly towards the door, he opened it. There stood Bucky, his face as always in shadow from his hood. 

"May I come in?"

"Of course!" Stefano replied, trying not to sound too eager. They sat together at the table, and Stefano realized too late that his sketchbook was still open on the page with the portrait he had done. 

"Is that me?" Bucky asked hesitantly, and Stefano closed his eyes briefly before nodding. 

"Yes."

"No one has ever drawn my portrait before."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. At length, Stefano—rather desperately—asked, "How did the mission go?"

Bucky's mouth set in a hard line, pulling his hood back, and Stefano gasped. Bucky's left cheek was bruised, with a thin cut running through the bruise. Stefano had lifted his hand towards Bucky's cheek before he realized, and quickly dropped it again. 

"What happened?"

"I was betrayed by one of the brotherhood," Bucky replied, his tone dark. "My target and his guards were lying in wait for me when I arrived. I only just managed to escape."

"And the traitor?" Stefano croaked, mouth dry. What could have been, if Bucky had not been able to take care of himself!

"He will be banished. The usual punishment for betraying the brotherhood is death, but I managed to convince the Mentor to be lenient."

"Surely he should die, as you would have done if you had not managed to escape," Stefano spat. 

Bucky shot him a half smile. "It's a little more complicated than that. Banishment from Italy and from the brotherhood is good enough for me. "

"You are very forgiving."

"Oh, I have not forgiven him. As I say, there are other complications." Bucky stretched. "But I am afraid to say that your hard work was for nought. We were betrayed in the existence of the map too."

"Oh." Stefano was, if he was honest with himself, rather disappointed that he had not been able to really help the brotherhood. 

Noticing this, Bucky smiled. "Never mind. I'm sure you will be able to help again." 

"I hope so."

There was another uncomfortable silence, then Bucky cleared his throat. "I should go. There are things I need to do."

"Of course." Stefano smiled shyly. "Thank you for letting me know that you're okay."

Bucky's eyes widened, and he coughed. "I just… didn't want you to worry unnecessarily."

Stefano felt suddenly warm. "I appreciate that," he murmured.

He saw Bucky out, then collapsed onto his bed, smiling widely to himself. A seed of hope had sprouted in his heart. Perhaps… perhaps he had a chance after all. 

***

Bucky took a deep breath as he made his way quickly towards Madama Beatrice. Stefano was so tempting, and to think he had thanked Bucky for thinking of him… it had taken all of his willpower not to pull Stefano into his arms and kiss him soundly. 

But there were too many considerations, too many hurdles. Not the least of which was the danger Stefano would be in if the Templars ever found out. Bucky would not have Stefano put through that for anything. 

He reached Madama Beatrice's, and greeted the ladies standing outside. They simpered and smirked, making fun of him, and Bucky could not help but laugh. 

Madama Beatrice was, as always, delighted to see him. "Bucky, darling boy!" Her face fell when she saw his bruising. "But what has happened to you?"

"I was betrayed by Matteo last night," Bucky told her, pacing in front of the ornate desk she sat behind, and her hand flew to her mouth, eyes widening. 

"Matteo? But why…?"

"Jealousy."

"Your Mentor will be heartbroken."

Bucky nodded. "He is, but I begged for him to be lenient. I believe that Matteo will merely be banished from the brotherhood, and the country, and left to find his fortunes on his own."

"That was good of you," Madama Beatrice said slowly. "May I ask why, when he would have had you killed?"

Bucky sighed. "My Mentor. His soul was crying out at the pain of the prospect of losing his only son, and my heart was heavy to see him mourn."

"You are too kind and good of heart," she murmured. "May he realize what he owes you and repay this life debt."

"He can repay it by never showing his face in Florence again," Bucky growled. "I want no favors from him."

"What we want and what we get are often two different things. But now, tell me, how are you getting on with Stefano?"

Bucky flopped into the chair opposite Madama Beatrice. "It does not. I have seen him several times, but even if he does feel for me as I do for him, I cannot expose him to the dangers he would surely face were we to pursue a liaison."

"Have you given him this choice, or have you made the decision for him?" Madama Beatrice's gaze was shrewd, and Bucky blushed, holding up his hands defensively. 

"Is it fair to even ask this of him?" he asked hotly. 

"Oh, my boy. Surely it is fairer than to give him no choice at all. Isn't that what you fight for? The ability to exercise free will?"

That gave him pause. 

Seeing him at a loss for words, she smiled. "Now, I may have a lead on your family's whereabouts."

Bucky sat forward in his chair, wiping his palms, which had begun to sweat, on his breeches. "What news do you have?"

"Nothing definite thus far, but there are whisperings of a Templar stronghold to the north, where prisoners are being held captive. I am not sure if your family is among them, but when I know more I will send word immediately."

"Thank you, my friend." He stood, as did Madama Beatrice, and they embraced. She was a tall woman, only a handful of inches shorter than Bucky himself, so he did not have to bend much to embrace her. It led him to wonder how far he would have to bend to embrace Stefano, or kiss him…

He clamped down on those thoughts. Right now he wished to focus on the news which Madama Beatrice had given him. 

"Now you be cautious, and think about what I said regarding that Stefano boy, yes?"

Bucky nodded like a scolded child. "Yes, Madama Beatrice."

"Good boy. Now get out of here and let me work!"

He smiled into her sparkling eyes, and kissed her on the cheek before leaving. So the Templars had a stronghold to the north? Well, if it transpired that Bucky's family was being held there, there would be hell to pay for those keeping them captive.

***

As he waited for his painting to dry enough for him to box it up, Stefano amused himself by sketching those who passed by on the street. He dreamed that Bucky would be one of them, but much to Stefano's disappointment he did not appear. The next few days he felt as though he was living a strange half life. Even mass on Sunday did not stir him in the way it usually did. 

He knew that Bucky must be out there, doing whatever it was that assassins did—and Stefano was afraid to speculate on exactly what that involved—but still, he longed for the mysterious assassin to visit. 

Occasionally, when he was out at the market or taking a walk, he believed that he saw people running over the rooftops out of the corner of his eye, but he was never sure if he was just imagining it. He liked to think he wasn't—that Bucky was out there, perhaps looking out for him. A foolish fantasy, to be sure, but it gave Stefano comfort. 

At night he lay in his lonely bed, woolen blankets piled on top of himself as he tried to keep out the cold. The single fire in the corner of the room tried valiantly to heat the entire apartment, but there was still a chill in the air. Sometimes, Stefano could even see his breath in the firelight as he lay in bed, and on those nights he wished for a familiar body to keep him warm. 

When a week had passed with no sign of Bucky, Stefano felt his last breath of hope leave his lungs. Bucky had not been interested in him, had no feelings for him other than business. That much was clear. Else why would he have stayed away for so long?

It was Thursday, and Stefano was just coming back from the market. He climbed the stairs to his apartment, and gasped as he reached the top. 

There, sitting outside his door with his knees drawn up to his chest, was Bucky. 

"Bucky?" Stefano said quietly, and Bucky looked up at him. His face was a mess of bruising, and dark circles shaded the spaces under his eyes as though he had not slept, but there was a look of triumph in his expression which Stefano could not fathom. 

"May I come in?" Bucky croaked, and Stefano nodded, unlocking the door quickly and allowing Bucky inside before him. 

"You look like death," Stefano told him. "What on earth have you been doing?"

"I was called to Pisa to assist the brotherhood there to rid themselves of some Templars," Bucky explained, as he sat, wincing, at the table. "There were rather more of them than of us, but we prevailed."

"Any casualties?"

"None life threatening on our side. On the Templar side? Several, I'm pleased to say."

"And what of your injuries?"

Bucky smirked. "Nothing that will not heal in time. Nothing broken, or so the doctor tells me, although I have several bruises. A mere trifle."

"You look terrible."

Bucky barked out a laugh. "Thank you. That's a charming way with words you have."

"I mean it," Stefano retorted, trying to hide his blush and cursing his fair skin. "Your face is a mess. Have you slept at all this past week?"

"Not much, or often." Bucky paused. "I came here as soon as I got back. I did not want you to be concerned, as I know you worry."

Stefano felt a warmth in his chest that no flame could achieve. "I merely thought you were busy, and had no more use for me at the moment," he confessed, and Bucky looked stricken. 

"I do not come here because you are only of use," he said, and Stefano's heart skipped a beat. 

"Oh?"

Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment there was a knock on the door. Bucky’s eyes widened, and he dived under Stefano's bed. Stefano waited a few moments, then opened the door. 

His landlady, signora Bianchi, stood there, holding out her hand. 

"Your rent is due," she said shortly, and Stefano nodded. 

"I will fetch it."

He closed the door and went to the fireplace, removing one of the loose bricks and taking out a purse. Counting out some coins, he replaced both purse and brick and went back to the door. 

"Here," he said, and watched her as her greedy eyes counted the coins in her hand. 

"Thank you, signor di Ruggiero. Have a pleasant afternoon."

"Thank you."

Closing the door, he listened until her footsteps echoed down the stairs, then laughed. 

"You can come out now," he said, and Bucky extracted himself rather sheepishly from underneath the bed. 

"I could not risk it being a guard," he explained, and Stefano smiled. 

"I understand."

"I must away," Bucky added, his expression regretful. "I must make a report to my Mentor. But I shall come and see you soon."

Stefano nodded, and walked Bucky out. 

"Until next time." And with that, Bucky disappeared down the stairs. Stefano closed the door and leaned back against it, a smile lighting up his face. Bucky did not only view him as a useful tool. Perhaps he viewed him as a friend. All the better. Stefano felt as though he could walk on air. 

***

When Bucky returned to the bureau, the Mentor was waiting for him. 

"So, my boy, you have returned!" he said, smiling. "And did you complete the mission in Pisa?"

"I did," Bucky replied. 

"Good. Oh, while you were gone, a message came for you from Madama Beatrice." The Mentor handed over a folded piece of parchment, sealed with Beatrice's wax seal, and he opened it eagerly. 

_They are where we thought,_ it read. _Ride north to Pian di Mugnone, there you will find what you seek. B._

"Good news?" the Mentor asked, and Bucky nodded. 

"Madama Beatrice has discovered the location of my family. I must go and rescue them."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Not yet," Bucky said heavily. "But I will."

He took his leave from the Mentor and immediately rode north of the city, to Pian di Mugnone. Tying his horse up on a tree at the outskirts, he made sure his hood was securely up and over his face before making his way into the small town. 

Blending in with crowds was easy; he had been doing it for years, with ease. He moved from crowd to crowd until he noticed a large villa surrounded by heavy guard. Quickly ducking down a small alleyway between buildings, he climbed onto the rooftop opposite. The guard stationed there had his back to Bucky, who crept up silently behind him and killed him quickly with his hidden blade. 

The distance to the villa was too wide to jump; he would have to make his way there on foot. The only entrance, as far as he could see, was surrounded by guards, and he did not want to have to fight unless he had to. That would raise the alarm, and they might kill his family before he could get to them. 

As he surveyed the building, he noticed a cart filled with logs being allowed through. Patiently waiting on the rooftop as the sun moved across the sky, he saw that carts with various supplies were coming regularly. His eyes narrowed and he smiled darkly. He had found his way in. 

Bucky climbed down from the building and returned to the crowds, moving in the direction from which the carts had come. As he reached the edges of the town, a cart filled with hay was stopped, allowing the people past. Bucky slid out of the group of people he had been walking among and ducked behind the cart. The rider’s back was to him, and he smirked, quickly jumping into the pile of hay and burrowing down to the bottom. Thus hidden, he waited, and soon felt the cart begin to move, bumping down the rough street. 

After a few minutes, the cart stopped again. He heard the rider speaking to some guards, then the cart began to move. He waited until it had stopped again, then peered our from under the hay. 

He was in the villa stable, and there was no one around. 

Jumping out and dusting himself off, Bucky sneaked out the stable, pressing himself flat against a wall as a guard approached. The guard passed him without even looking, and Bucky continued on. 

He couldn't just walk in the front door, that much was clear, but as he looked he noticed that an upstairs window was open. Climbing the building with speed, he looked through the window, which opened into an upstairs corridor. He climbed in, and took a deep breath. So far so good. 

He had no idea where he was going, having no plans to the layout of the villa. The sound of footsteps approached, and Bucky readied himself. When a guard rounded the corner, he leapt, knocking the guard on his back and straddling him, hidden blade to the guard’s throat. 

"Where are the prisoners?" he whispered urgently. 

"In the basement, signor!" the guard stammered. 

Bucky nodded, and ran his hidden blade through the guard’s neck. The guard gurgled once, then was silent. Bucky shut the guard’s eyes regretfully. At least he had afforded the man a quick death. 

To the basement he must go, then. 

He managed to find the servants’ staircase, and descended, luckily running into nobody else as he went. When he reached the basement, however, there were two guards, who spotted him immediately. Without even thinking—there was no time for such luxuries—Bucky threw a knife with each hand, hitting one guard in the eye, and the other in the throat. They both collapsed, and Bucky knelt beside them, searching for keys. 

The keys obtained, he unlocked the door. Inside were several cells, mostly empty, but in three of them…

"Giacomo?" 

"Mother!" Bucky ran to her, grasping her hand through the bars. He unlocked the door quickly, and his mother dashed out, embracing him. 

He unlocked the other two, embracing his little sister and his father in turn. 

"Are you well?" he asked, and his father nodded, wincing slightly and holding his side. 

"As much as can be expected. We are ready to fight."

"Good." He handed his sword to his father, his throwing knives to his mother, and his dagger to his sister. "Then let us go. It is time to get you all to the bureau."

"What of our home?"

Bucky shook his head at his mother. "They ransacked it—all but the hidden rooms—and a guard remains there. We cannot go back."

His mother sighed, resigned. "So be it. Let us go."

His father led the way, and they soon met a group of guards outside on the terrace. The sound of steel on steel filled the air as his father dueled three guards at once. His mother stood back, throwing the knives with unerring accuracy, and his sister was making good work with the dagger. Meanwhile Bucky was dispatching as many guards as he could with his hidden blades, ducking and dodging swinging swords. 

When all the guards were dead, they ran to the stables, taking four horses. There was no time to saddle them, and so they rode bareback out to the outskirts of the town, where Bucky had left his own horse. 

"Mother, you take my horse," he told her, and his mother nodded, untying and mounting his steed. Together they rode back to Florence, and left the horses at the bureau stables before scaling the building to enter from the roof. 

Alessandro was passing by, and he gasped when he saw them. "Signor and signora Barnes! Becca! But how?"

"Madama Beatrice’s intelligence. She told me where they were being held. Then it was simply a matter of getting in and out again."

Alessandro pulled Bucky into an embrace. "You have done well, brother. The Mentor will be pleased with your work today."

"I must take them to him now." 

Bucky led his family through the various corridors to the Mentor, who shot to his feet when he saw them. 

"My dear friends! You have returned to us!"

"Thanks to our son," Bucky's father said, smiling. “Truly, he is a master assassin."

"He is indeed! He has been tireless in his search for you, as well as fighting the Templars in between times. What tales he will have to tell you. But tell me, how were you treated?"

"They tortured us, trying to get us to talk," Bucky's father said grimly. "But we would not. None of us broke. We kept faith with the brotherhood at all times."

"Well done, brother," the Mentor said approvingly. "You are all a credit to the brotherhood. Now you must go and bathe and find fresh clothing, and then sit down with your son to hear all the happenings."

Becca was ready first, and as she sat next to her brother in a fresh dress, toweling her long dark hair, Bucky cleared his throat. 

"Were they terribly cruel to you in that place?"

Becca shrugged. "They certainly were not kind. They were worse to father than any of us, though mother and I did not escape unscathed. I have cuts and bruises myself. And although they did not starve us, they gave us very little to eat."

"I am sorry I did not find you sooner."

Becca smiled at him. "I know you did your best, brother, and that is all that counts. You found us in the end." She paused, then she elbowed her brother’s side. "So tell me, brother, what is new with you? Have you fallen in love again while we were in custody?"

Bucky snorted. "Sometimes you are such a typical woman, obsessed with love. Always asking me about my paramours."

"I will tell all the women in the bureau of your opinion of them," she teased. "But seriously, brother, you cannot have been companionless for so long. You never were before."

"I have not been, not that it is any of your business. As for love…" Bucky paused. "There is someone, but I do not know how he feels for me, and he is not an assassin so I am afraid to take the risk."

"Tell me more!"

Bucky smiled into his sister’s eager face. "He is an artist, who has caught the eye of the Medicis. He is a good man, and wants to be of service to the brotherhood where he can."

"A noble man indeed. But you say you have not confessed your feelings?"

"I have not."

Becca sighed. "Brother, sometimes you must take a risk for love. I beg of you, tell him how you feel."

"I will, should the opportunity arise," he promised her, and she frowned. 

"Sometimes you must make your own opportunities."

Bucky put his arm around her. "When did my child sister become so wise?"

She laughed, and he laughed with her. It was a good day. 

***

Stefano stood nervously in the home of Clarissa Medici, as she inspected the portrait he had done of her. At length, she stepped back from it, smiling at him. 

"You have done great work here, signor di Ruggiero. Your master would have been proud of you."

"Thank you, my lady."

"They are looking for artists to restore some frescos in Venice, in San Nicolò al Lido. I would put your name forward, if you were interested. It would be a great opportunity."

Stefano hesitated for a moment. Leave Florence? Leave Bucky? But she was correct, it was a great opportunity, and he had no guarantees of Bucky's feelings. 

He nodded. "I would be honored if you would do so, my lady."

Her smile widened. "I thought you might! Your room and board will of course be paid while you are there, and it should take no longer than a two months. There are several artists working on it, you see."

"My lady is too good," Stefano said gratefully. 

"Not at all. Such talent as yours should be utilized, and what better way than to the glory of God? I will write a letter immediately, informing them of your interest and of my recommendation."

"My most sincere thanks."

"My servant will pay you on your way out."

Stefano bowed, and followed the sergeant out. At the door, the servant handed him a purse full of coins. Stefano thanked him, and hiding the purse in his cloak made his way quickly home. 

When he arrived, he counted out the coins and smiled. Why, there was enough there to pay his rent and food for a year! 

Placing the purse in his usual hiding spot, Stefano replaced the brick and put the coins he had taken out into his own purse. Tonight he would have a feast. If only he knew how to contact Bucky, he would have invited the assassin to join him in his celebration. 

He sighed, and left again, making his way out onto the streets towards the market. 

As he rounded a corner, he bumped into a well dressed older lady. "I'm so sorry," he said with a gasp, and the lady looked at him kindly. 

"There is no harm done." She gazed at him thoughtfully. "You look familiar. I feel as though we have met before." The lady snapped her fingers and laughed. "Of course! You were a student of Francesco Esposito, were you not? I remember you as a child. Stefano, yes?"

Stefano bowed. "At my lady's service."

"You probably do not remember when your master brought you to a house of ill repute so he could slake his lusts while I and some of the girls entertained you in the living room."

Stefano's eyes widened as the memory came back to him. "I do indeed! My goodness, I could not have been but ten years old."

"My girls had so much fun playing such games with you!" She looked at him slyly. "I believe we have a mutual acquaintance. A young gentleman who goes by ‘Bucky’?"

Stefano looked at her suspiciously. "I don't know who you mean."

The lady laughed. "Come, come, he is a dear friend. I recently sent him a message which I hope would help on one of his quests, bless him," she added in a murmur. "He has spoken to me of you, you know."

"He has?" Stefano asked, swallowing nervously.

"He has. And my advice to you would be this. Do not hide yourself from him. If you have the opportunity, and you care for him, tell him."

Stefano blushed. "I… thank you."

"You may call me a meddling old woman if you wish," the lady said with a laugh, "but heed me when I say you should take a chance. He would be worth it."

She patted him on the arm and whisked off, leaving Stefano's head in a blur. Did she know something of Bucky's feelings for him that she wished to give him a hint? Or had he not been so circumspect as he had thought and Bucky had guessed his own feelings for the assassin? 

Mind reeling, he continued on to the market neither seeing nor hearing the crowds around him. 

***

"The Mentor wishes to speak with you."

Bucky looked up into Cassandra's smiling face from his seat in the library, eyebrow raised. 

"Then I shall go to him directly."

He stood, and made his way to the Mentor’s rooms, greeting various members of the brotherhood as he passed them. 

The Mentor smiled when he saw Bucky approach. "My boy, I have a vital mission for you. You are my best assassin, and I would entrust this to no one but you, and Alessandro, who we await now."

Intrigued, Bucky waited in silence with the Mentor until Alessandro arrived. 

"Shut the door, please," the Mentor said, and Bucky did so. "Now, we hear that there is another clue to the whereabouts of the apple, and the Templars are on to it."

"Do you wish for us to retrieve this clue?" Bucky asked, but the Mentor shook his head. 

"I have a better idea. Go to Venice. Retrieve the apple. Take it and hide it with our brothers in Egypt. I have already sent a message to them, coded so that even if the Templars intercept it they will not be able to read it. Your ship will be ready to leave Venice when you have completed your mission. From there, you will travel to Alexandria. Our brothers will lead you from there."

Bucky was torn. On the one hand, to be trusted with such a mission was truly an honor. But on the other, he would be away for months, by which time Stefano would no doubt have forgotten about him. 

The Mentor seemed to notice his hesitation. "My boy?"

Bucky shook his head. He was first and foremost an assassin. "It would be an honor, Mentor."

"Good. You leave in two days."

Bucky and Alessandro nodded and left, and Alessandro bumped his shoulder against Bucky's. "What an honor, eh?"

"Indeed," Bucky replied, distracted. "I must go. I will return soon and we will make our plans."

Bucky went straight to Stefano's apartment, and knocked on the door, when it opened, Bucky looked inside, and his jaw dropped. 

"Are you… packing?"

Stefano blushed, stepping aside to allow Bucky to enter and closing the door behind him. "I was hoping you would come. I'm going to Venice for a while, to work on the frescos of San Nicolò al Lido."

Bucky stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing, so uproariously that Stefano looked taken aback. "I, too, am going to Venice, to that very church. It is what I came here to tell you. My journey will then take me on to distant lands, but I cannot tell you any more than that."

"How long for?"

"Five months? Six? Who can say."

Stefano's face fell. "For so long?"

Bucky's heart swelled with hope. Why would Stefano be so moved by him being away for so long, unless…?

He took a step forward, into Stefano's space, and Stefano looked up at him fearlessly, a light blush staining his pale cheeks. 

"Yes. Will you wait for me?"

Stefano's lips quirked into a smile. "For you? I'd wait until the end of time."

Joy such as Bucky had never known surged in his chest, and he leaned down, crushing their lips together. Stefano moaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Bucky's neck and pushing up on his toes to better reach Bucky's mouth. 

Bucky picked Stefano up, whirling him around as Stefano's legs wrapped around his waist, and pushed him against the wall. Stefano gasped

"Oh god, yes, Bucky, please!"

"What do you want?"

"I want you to fuck me, then to rest, and then I wish to fuck you."

Bucky laughed joyfully. "That sounds like an excellent plan. But you will need to stand, so that we may strip off, for I wish to look upon you."

Stefano blushed prettily, and stood. They stripped quickly, although Stefano was naked first due to the number of weapons Bucky had to divest himself of. But finally, _finally_ , they stood together, naked, and Bucky moaned to see Stefano, erect and flushed rosy pink. 

"Do you have something to ease the way?" Bucky asked. Stefano nodded, fetching a bottle of oil and handing it to Bucky. 

He lay on the bed, and Bucky climbed on after him, kissing him again. He felt as though he would never be able to get enough of that lush mouth. But he could feel Stefano, hard and leaking against his hip, and knew there was something else he'd rather be doing with his own mouth. 

Sliding down the bed, Bucky settled himself between Stefano's pale thighs, and coated his fingers in the slick oil. As he teased around Stefano's hole, he leaned down, taking his shaft into his mouth. Stefano gave a low cry that made his own spindle twitch and leak against the mattress. He pressed in the first finger, and Stefano hissed. 

"Have you done this before?" Bucky asked, curious, and Stefano glared down the bed at him. 

"Yes, but it has been some time."

Bucky nodded and slowed his movements, eking out the pleasure for both of them. Stefano was so tight inside, and hot like a furnace. Bucky couldn't wait to be inside of him. 

He opened Stefano up slowly, as he sucked at his shaft, reveling in the noises Stefano was making. He was being quiet, to be sure, just in case, but the small gasps and whimpers were driving Bucky wild with desire. 

At length, Stefano laid his hand on Bucky's head. 

"I'm ready, oh Bucky, please, I want you inside me now!"

Bucky nodded, drawing out his fingers, and slicked his own shaft in the oil. Positioning himself, he leaned down to kiss Stefano as he carefully and oh so slowly pushed inside. 

When his hips met Stefano's buttocks he paused, and Stefano nuzzled his cheek. 

"You feel so good inside of me, as I knew you would," Stefano said, a hint of wonder in his voice. 

Bucky nodded, letting the sensations course through him. "And you feel even better inside than I could have dreamed."

Stefano captured his mouth in a kiss. "Move," he murmured against Bucky's lips, and Bucky nodded, shifting his hips and starting to fuck Stefano slowly. They moved together, as though their bodies truly were one, and Bucky felt as he had never felt before. 

_Is this what true love feels like?_ he thought to himself with wonder, and as he looked down at Stefano's beautiful face, Stefano smiled up at him. 

"Faster, harder, please, Bucky," he begged, and Bucky could refuse him nothing. He began to fuck him hard and fast, until the very bed began to groan in complaint. Stefano brought his hand down to his own shaft, frigging himself and moaning. "Oh god, oh Bucky, don't stop, please don't stop, oh god, Bucky!" Stefano cried out, not so loudly as to worry Bucky that people may hear, and spent himself all over his hand and stomach. 

His muscles were squeezing around Bucky's shaft, and Bucky gasped at the sensation. "Oh god, oh my god," he panted. "Stefano, fuck, fuck!" His climax hit him, and he gave a low cry as he spent himself inside Stefano, hips stilling as he shuddered through the little death. He understood now why the French called it so—he felt reborn, made new. 

His head drooped as he caught his breath, but then Stefano's hand was on his cheek, drawing him into a deep kiss. Bucky kissed back languidly, drawing out of Stefano's body and frowning at Stefano's hiss. 

"Are you alright?" he asked. 

Stefano nodded. "I am fine. Better, even, than that. I am wonderful."

Bucky lay carefully on the bed beside him. "You are indeed wonderful." Stefano lay his head on Bucky's chest, and Bucky kissed the sandy blond hair, sighing. "But we must discuss something. I worry for you, if we are to continue this liaison. The Templars to not look kindly on those who assassins fall in love with, and you could be in very real danger."

Stefano looked at him sharply. "Are you… do you mean that?"

Bucky looked at Stefano in confusion, until his brain caught up with his mouth. "I…" But he could find no reason to say nay. "I do. I'm in love with you. I think I have been falling for you since I saw you that night from the rooftop."

Stefano kissed him again. "Good, because I admit that I am completely in love with you."

Bucky thought his heart would burst with happiness. 

***

Stefano hummed happily as he packed up the last of his belongings. His hole was pleasantly aching from the night before, and he felt fully contented. Bucky had not been able to stay the night, as he had to return to his Mentor, but it mattered not in the long run. Bucky was his, and he was Bucky's, and that was all that mattered. 

Stefano was leaving for Venice soon, but Bucky intended to meet him there in a few days, to arrive the day after Stefano himself. It was a long journey, but Stefano could not help but be excited. 

He had paid his landlady the rent for the next six months up front, to ensure he did not lose his home while in Venice. All was ready. 

As he was closing his bag, there was a knock on the door. A coachman waited outside, and he carried Stefano's bags down to the carriage, with Stefano following close behind. He climbed into the carriage, his bags were secured, and they were away!

The journey took four days, stopping overnight each night at inns along the way, but when they were finally there the coachman took Stefano straight to his lodgings. They had been arranged by the church, but for all that were very fine for an impoverished painter. The landlady, signora Pernicce, was a kind lady with a twinkle in her eyes. His room was large, and there was a small dressing chamber off the room as well. Truly, it felt like luxury. 

He slept well that night, but he missed Bucky. Knowing that they were to be parted for months all too soon weighed heavy on his mind. But the following day, as he dressed, there was a knock on his window. He opened it, laughing when he saw Bucky on the balcony outside. 

Bucky hopped into the room and took Stefano in his arms, kissing him. "Hmm, I missed doing that," he said breathily, and Stefano nodded in agreement. "I have a favor to ask of you, for the brotherhood."

"Yes?"

"Let my brother and I dress as your assistants so we may enter the church with you?"

Stefano laughed. "For you, my love, anything. Now you must away before you get caught."

Bucky cupped Stefano's cheek in his palm. "I cannot promise to have another night with you before I leave."

Stefano swallowed hard, and nodded. "You must do what must be done."

Bucky kissed him again. "I love you," he said hoarsely, then disappeared out the window. Stefano looked out after him, but he was gone. Sighing, he finished dressing and went down to break his fast. 

***

Bucky and Alessandro, dressed in civilian clothes, made their way to San Nicolò al Lido. Stefano awaited them outside, and with only a brief nod led them into the church. As soon as they were in, they sneaked into the sacristy and hid there, waiting on nightfall and for the church to be closed up again. 

When the artists had all gone, they emerged. "Now to find the tomb of Domenico I Contarini," Bucky whispered. It was not hard to find, as it dominated a large area near the altar. 

"How will we open it?" Alessandro whispered back. Bucky put his hand in his pocket and took out the two objects they had taken from Gioffre Borgia. He placed these in holes at the top of the tomb, and turned them clockwise. 

There was an odd clicking noise, then the lid of the tomb shifted. Bucky pushed it to one side, to reveal the remains of the departed Doge, and clasped in his hands was a spherical object wrapped in linen. 

"The apple," Bucky said, tone awed. He picked it up, putting it securely in his cloak, and together they resealed the tomb. 

They managed to break out easily, and when they did, Stefano was awaiting them outside. 

"What are you doing here?" Bucky asked. 

"Keeping watch," Stefano replied stubbornly. 

Bucky couldn't help but smile. "Will you come with us to the docks? Our ship awaits us."

Stefano nodded, and the trio made their way through the lamplit Venetian streets. When they reached the docks, a man waved them over. While he took Alessandro on board, Bucky turned to Stefano. 

"I ask you again, my love—will you wait for me?" Bucky asked, almost afraid of the answer. 

"Until the end of time," Stefano replied. They kissed, and the kiss was the sweetest Bucky had ever had. He drew back and waved as he boarded the ship, burying his face in his hands when he reached the hold. Six long months without his new love stretched before him. But that could not be helped. Although he longed to be back on shore with Stefano, he had a mission to complete. Setting his mouth in a stern line, he steeled his determination. He would return. 

***

It had been five months since Stefano had left Bucky at the port in Venice; three months since he had returned to Florence. Life tasted a little flat after all the adventure and intrigue, and Stefano was looking forward to his next project—another Medici portrait. 

As he set out his easel and paints, there was a sharp knock at the door. Stefano stared. 

It could not be. 

Trembling, he made his way to the door, and when he opened it his legs nearly buckled underneath him. There, deeply tanned and smiling, was Bucky. 

"I have returned, my love," Bucky said, a question in his gaze, and Stefano threw caution to the wind, wrapping his arms around Bucky's neck and kissing him soundly. 

His love had returned to him.


End file.
